A Matter of Indifference
by MadgeM
Summary: Minerva and Tom never quite saw eye to eye.


This is just something I've been kicking around in my head lately, and finally it is squirming around awkwardly on paper. A few more turns in the rock polisher are in order, and any comments would be welcome should you wish to give them. : )

_Standard disclaimer: Not mine. Am poor. Will knit for food._

_A Matter of Indifference_

"Quit it, Riddle. I mean it," Minerva hissed, swinging her long black braid out of his reach.

"Aw, come on, Minerva. I was only playing with you."

The audacious grin that the other girls found charming began to surface.

Honestly, Minerva didn't know why the other girls found him so-- well, she supposed they found him attractive because he was so flirtatious with everyone. His charming veneer bothered her; she didn't trust it. Or him.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with what doesn't belong to you?" she snapped, snatching up her book-bag and turning on her heel to walk away.

A hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Don't talk about what you know nothing about."

His voice was low and even, but Minerva felt something cold and hard underlying it. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up on end, and the air tensed-- and then he relaxed his grip.

"I grew up in an orphanage," he resumed as if it didn't matter. "But then you didn't know that."

"I'm sorry," she turned back to look at him, actually feeling something other than annoyance with him for once. "I didn't realize-- it was unkind of me, and I _am_ sorry."

Tom laughed softly, letting go of her, as if they had just been arguing over Quidditch trials.

"What's this, Minerva McGonagall apologizing to a Slytherin for hurting his feelings?" he mocked.

"I don't say things I don't mean." Her annoyance was coming back to her.

"How very Gryffindor of you." He looked her up and down, assessing her.

She crossed her arms, feeling vexed yet again. The impertinence-- !

"Yes, how very Gryffindor you are," he observed, his tone something between disdain and-- was it _admiration_?-- that she couldn't identify. It made her uncomfortable, all this not knowing. She preferred the straightforwardness of books and lessons, and _oh_--

She never knew where she stood with Tom Riddle.

"I've got a prefect meeting to go to, or else I'll be late. So will you," she said firmly, hoisting her bag onto her left shoulder with a practiced ease she didn't feel.

"So we have." His face was once again cool and playful, and Minerva wondered whether she had imagined the change in his demeanor. "Might as well just walk together. Unless you would prefer that I keep twenty paces behind you from here to the tower?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Just being courteous." He bowed at the waist mockingly.

"Just try to repress the urge to levitate my braid, if you're so bent on gentlemanly behavior," she replied dryly.

"If you will permit me to walk you, then I will forgo the pleasure of charming your hair," he promised.

Minerva scowled.

"And what, exactly, is your fascination with charming my hair?"

He paused, then asked casually, "Do you really want to know?"

Minerva found herself at a loss, a muddled, puzzled sort of feeling sweeping over her; she loathed it, being unaccustomed to such things.

"Why shouldn't I?" She demanded, rounding on him. Her braid swished around, nearly hitting him in the face. "I don't understand you, Riddle--"

"Okay, okay!" He put up his hands in protest, eyes intent, as if looking for something. "It's just that... you see… " Tom became uncharacteristically clumsy.

"Well?"

"Patient as always," he noted dryly. "Do try not to interrupt so much, will you?" He paused, running his fingers through his dark hair, somehow unable to meet her gaze. "It's simply that you never wear it down, that's all. Your hair. I've never seen it down. And you should. Wear it down, I mean."

Minerva was at a loss. "Is _that_ all?"

Then it was her turn to laugh. "I have trouble believing that my hair drives _you_ to distraction," she noted sardonically. She continued walking, oblivious to the slightly flushed cheeks of her companion.

"You should," he said honestly, falling into step with her once again. His charming veneer-- which she loathed so much-- was gone, replaced with what appeared to be genuine interest.

Minerva peered at him in surprise, eyes wide.

"What?"

"You should wear it down, I mean," he said quickly, a light flush spreading at his neck.

She appeared not to notice, much to his relief, as a door opened down the corridor and a figure in bright orange robes spotted them.

"Ah! Minerva, Tom. There you are," Professor Dumbledore called. "We were just about to begin looking for you." He looked from one to the other as he waited for one of them to break the pause.

"My apologies for being late, Professor," Minerva said quickly, snapping back to her brisk self as she took one last quick look at Tom before striding toward Dumbledore, head held high.

"Not at all, my dear," Dumbledore smiled affectionately at his favorite student. "We were not about to start without the Head Girl and Head Boy."

He looked past her to Tom Riddle, who was watching Minerva intently as she moved through the opened door. Tom's eyes met with Dumbledore's; his expression clouded over and quickly became unreadable.

"Won't you join us, Tom?" Dumbledore asked with measured lightness.

"Of course, Professor," Tom answered cooly, following Minerva inside.

Albus Dumbledore turned to close the staff door behind himself absently, something nagging his mind to uneasiness. There was something about the scene he had just witnessed that went beyond the innocence of a childhood fancy… no, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was something in Tom's demeanor. Something almost… well, not quite _predatory_, but certainly intent.

_Interesting, _he thought to himself. _Very interesting._

He turned to Armando and the group of prefects, bestowing a lighthearted smile upon them.

"Well, now, let us begin the weekly Prefects' meeting. Would the Head Girl like to start?"

Minerva smiled back at him warmly. He sat as she began to speak, quietly resuming his observations of Tom Riddle.

Tom watching her, eyes narrowed, intense.

Dumbledore removed his spectacles, unobtrusively polishing the glass on his robes.

He would have to keep an eye on this.


End file.
